We travel for the bar, not the flight.
Miles for Martinis is an independent publication about the world's great hotel bars — the rooms, the rituals, and the single drink worth crossing a city for.
It started, as these things do, with one perfect martini. A nightcap at the Connaught after a delayed flight, served from a trolley with more ceremony than most weddings — and the slow realisation that the bar, not the destination, had become the reason to travel.
So we began keeping notes. Which rooms had kept their nerve. Who still stirred rather than shook. Where the regulars sat, and why. What began as a private list became a publication: long-form city guides, an honest directory we call The Index, and a fortnightly Dispatch for people who plan trips around last call.
We pay our own way, accept no comped rounds, and visit every bar before we write a word. The rest is just good company and cold glassware.
A great hotel bar is a city's living room — and we have made a habit of letting ourselves in.
Three things we never bend
We always visit
Every bar in The Index has been sat in, ordered from, and paid for by us. No exceptions, no press trips.
We rate honestly
Five glasses or none. Reputation buys a bar nothing; the pour in front of us is the only thing being judged.
We keep it short
One bar worth the journey, not a hundred you can skip. Restraint is the whole house style.
Spent a decade reviewing restaurants before deciding the bar was the better story. Stirs, never shakes.
Chronicles the after-midnight city from a stool at the Mark. Believes the espresso martini is underrated.
Covers the Continent's quietest, most exacting rooms. Has opinions about vermouth ratios.
Shoots the rooms as they actually feel at 1am — low light, brass, condensation and all.
Pull up a stool
One bar worth the journey, every fortnight. No noise, no listicles.
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